


there's an awful lot of breathing room

by we_are_the_same



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_are_the_same/pseuds/we_are_the_same
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written for the 1D kinkfest. Zayn is sick and Liam isn't there. But that's kind of Zayn's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's an awful lot of breathing room

“ _Are you sure?”_ Liam asks for what feels like the hundredth time, and Zayn smiles, nods before he has to succumb to a coughing fit. He knows Liam is watching, can detail all the lines of his concerned look from memory alone, and he tries to stop his boyfriend from worrying, tries to prevent his body from curling in on itself, though the gentle rub of Liam's hand on his back coaxes out a pitiful sound nonetheless. Zayn is all too aware that Liam can feel him trembling underneath his touch and his ears pick up the soft inhale before Liam tries again –- like Zayn knew he would.  _“Zayn, are-”_

 “ **Yes-** ” he insists with more vigor than he feels right now, fingers unclenching around the tissue in his hand. “Don't make me throw this at you, Liam, cause I swear-” He knows he doesn't look particularly threatening right now, with fever-glossed eyes and his hair in disarray, but Liam tries his best not to smile, and though Zayn can see him bite the inside of his cheek, he's glad for the pretense.

 He gives him a stern look that loses much of its potency as he sneezes, nose red when he finally gives up on wiping it clean with what feels like a disgustingly wet tissue. Another unhappy sound escapes his lips, and Zayn protests feebly when Liam plucks the disease-ridden paper towel from his hand to replace it with a clean and dry one before depositing the used-up cloth in an already-overflowing bin. “I'm sorry.” He mumbles, but his nose feels all stuffy and his throat is sore and what comes out is more of a string of unintelligible vowels and consonants. Liam –- bless him –- smiles like he understands anyway, and his hand feels blissfully cool against Zayn's forehead.  _“I love you.”_ He replies, and Zayn manages a tiny smile before another coughing fit overtakes him.

 Liam rubs his back all the way through it, even if he's already dressed up in his suit, looking sharp and so goddamn gorgeous that Zayn wishes he had the energy to fully appreciate it, to do something that'll wreck him, like maybe rumpling up that crisp and just-pressed white dress-shirt. Or he could undo his tie and wreak havoc on his hair. Zayn just wants to leave a mark of some kind, especially now that he's going with  _her_ , but the only thing he feels capable of right now is sneezing all over him and while that'd guarantee Danielle not wanting to put her hands on him, Zayn is too merciful to stake his claim that way.

 Maybe merciful is not the term. Maybe the word he's looking for is too-busy-hacking-up-his-lungs.

 Liam's hovering, dragging his feet, and Zayn loves it even if he rolls his eyes at him. “Go.” He says, pointing insistently towards the door, and Liam gives him this  _look_  that makes Zayn laugh despite the throbbing in his temples. “Don't give me those puppy eyes, Payne. I'm the one getting left behind while you're going to the premiere of the new Bond movie,  _with your ex_.” He punctuates the words with another jab of his finger, softens his expression when Liam looks guilty now, too. “Li, c'mon. I'm kidding.  _Go_. We talked about this.” It was Zayn's idea, even, and though he's not sure why he brought up such a masochistic plan in the first place, he's not going to throw a pity party over Liam agreeing to take Danielle when Zayn knows he'd have rather gone with him.

 His boyfriend pouts for a moment, fingers his collar, but before Liam can part his lips, Zayn groans and pushes himself to his feet, wraps the comforter tighter around his shivering frame. “Don't make me push you out the door, Liam Payne, because I swear I will, and we both know that I might not have the energy to get back to the couch and then where would I be? A pathetic sick mess crumpled up on the floor, that's where, so do what's left of my dignity a favor and get your handsome tuxedo-ed self out of here.” He wobbles a little, unsteady on his feet, but determined to keep his balance until Liam's got the hint and stops feeling like the world's worst boyfriend for going to a movie premiere that Management is practically forcing him to attend. Zayn knows Liam would rather stay and take care of him, and even if he's a tad mean for making Li feel sorry for him, it's Zayn's way of saying  _I love you_  and  _don't have too much fun without me_.

 There's also a hint of  _don't have too much fun with **her**_.

 “ _I love you.”_

 “Bye, Liam.”

 The door finally closes and Zayn gratefully sinks back onto the couch, wraps himself in the cream-colored comforter that Liam insisted on getting because it was so fluffy. The fabric feels soft when he brushes his scruffy jaw against it, and Zayn settles onto his side with a box of tissues and the remote control within reach.

 

  

Zayn dozes for the next hour or so, then makes his way to the bathroom without bothering to switch on a light to chase away the twilight. His feet barely make a sound on the carpet but every step sets off bright sparks in his head and he's glad to stretch out on the sofa again once he returns to the dim room. Liam's left him aspirin and a bottle of water on the little side table he's placed near the couch and Zayn's grateful for his foresight, downs two, three, maybe four tablets with a few sips of water, then gulps down half the bottle when his stomach doesn't protest too badly. He knows Liam would frown, would admonish him for taking more than the prescribed dose, but Liam's not here and Zayn wants to watch him walk the red carpet, wants to see the smile of the boy he fell in love with. The smile of a boy that still can't believe people are shouting his name, calling him to look left and right,  _here, Liam, Liam! One more picture, Liam!_

 He fumbles for the remote, turns the volume down low and switches the subtitles on, closes his eyes when the trailer's too bright and too flashy for his fever-addled brain, opens them again when some way-too-cheerful woman announces that they're going live in three, two, one...

 The red carpet is empty, but already paparazzi are pushing at one another to get the best spot, the mass of bodies writhing to and fro and from this angle it's kind of ridiculous, they look kind of pathetic, but Zayn knows that it's overwhelming and almost scary when bright lights flash in your face. He doesn't like it any more than Liam does, and as he wheezes into another tissue he wishes he was there with him right now, since Liam didn't start grabbing his elbow or his wrist when they posed for photographers just because he knew  _Zayn_  needed something to ground him.

 There are a few C and B-list celebs that get their five minutes of fame first, some up-and-coming bands and some has-beens, and Zayn practically snorts when The Wanted arrive, who seem loathe to leave now that they're in the spotlight, and Zayn gleefully notes a scowl as the paps shift their cameras to capture the arrival of Katie Price. Her dress is entirely too sparkly for Zayn to stand looking at, but he doesn't close his eyes because he's sure he's just spotted a familiar mop of hair.

 Haz walks down the red carpet first, beaming and waving and being his usual utterly charming self, and Lou follows, looking tired but excited, though the way he holds Eleanor's hand speaks volumes of how unhappy he is at being forced through yet another public appearance with  _the love of his life_. It's only because the  _real_  love of his life is walking three feet in front of him that he manages to keep a smile plastered on his face, and Zayn feels a pang of guilt because it wasn't supposed to be him and Liam that told Management they were a couple  _and there's nothing you can do about_ _it_. Lou and Haz will insist that they're happy for them, that it's only a matter of time before they can do the same, but Zayn can see the stress lines on Louis's face and worries that sooner or later everyone else will be able to, too.

 His worry for Lou and Harry gets pushed to the back of his mind when he spots Liam, though the smile that's threatening to overtake his face freezes when he sees Liam's hand, fingers linked with Danielle's, and Zayn hates everything from her stupid hair to her perfect French tip manicure. It takes his breath away, the sudden intense loathing, and his fingers curl around the remote control like he's considering hurling it at her annoyingly perfect, made-up face. He takes out his anger on the volume button instead, jabbing it repeatedly until the reporter's voice is so loud that it hurts his brain.

 Liam's on-screen appearance doesn't last more than a few minutes but the words keep echoing in his head long after he's gone and Zayn's muted the sound.

  _Former sweethearts Liam Payne and Danielle Peazer._

  _Recently split-up lovers looking cozy as ever._

  _They are absolutely radiating with happiness._

  _Maybe it's too soon to tell, but it looks like they are rekindling their romance._

 They don't speak of Zayn, don't mention that Liam has a boyfriend now, because even if they've admitted the truth to Management and their closest friends, the higher-ups are still trying to do damage control. Reporters are forbidden to mention that two members of One Direction are shagging –- more like four, but they're still making Lou dispel rumors and warble about his love for Eleanor –- like most of their fans don't already know. Hell, some knew before  _they_  knew, and they still buy their records, still go to their shows and scream and faint so what's the big deal?

 It doesn't sell, Management argues, and maybe it's not fair to judge by what he sees now, he can't be sure if it's true when he doesn't know how they'd respond to seeing Liam hold his hand in public, but from the way the reporters can't shut up about how happy Liam and Danielle look, how they've always made such a stunning couple, how  _the entire nation is rooting for them to get back together_ , Zayn fears that they're right.

 Maybe it's the fever, or the headache, or the way that his entire body feels bloated and overheated even when he's shivering, but Zayn can't stop thinking about the fact that the whole of bloody England would rather see his boyfriend with someone else than with him.

 He doesn't bother turning off the TV, just twists his body until his back is towards it, and all he can see is flashes of light that illuminate the pattern of the couch in front of him. No matter how tightly he squeezes his eyes shut, Zayn can't shake the image of Liam's smile. His brain is cruel, comparing Louis's expression with Liam's, judges the crinkles around their eyes and he wants to cry because as much as he doesn't want to admit it, Liam's smile is  _real_.

 Zayn's watched him long enough to know.

 When his phone chimes with the stupid ringtone that Liam set for him, Zayn ignores it, twists himself deeper into the cave he's made from his blankets, but the phone grows ever heavier in the soft gray sleep pants he's wearing, until he can't even breathe in without feeling its weight pressed solidly against his thigh.

  _Did you see me???_

 Zayn blinks at a too-bright screen, worries his cracked bottom lip with his teeth.  _Yea_ , he types back.  _You looked good._ And because he's an asshole and he feels like shit and apparently he's immature enough to want Liam to feel the same way, he adds:  _Happy. You n Dani looked happy._

 He switches off his phone then, tosses it haphazardly off the couch like he's not responsible for the impact of the words if the device isn't within touching distance.

 

  

Zayn gets woken up –- none too kindly –- when the blanket is tugged away from him and someone's shaking his shoulder so hard that he feels like his bones are tumbling through his fatigued body, like maybe his shoulderblades are wrapped around his calves and his fingers are trying to keep his heart from lurching now that his ribcage is otherwise engaged. He lets out a disgruntled sound without opening his eyes, says “Mprh!” in a loud, none-too-pleased tone when whoever it is doesn't get the hint.

 “ _Zayn!”_

 “...Li?” Zayn manages to realign his bones the way they should, flexes his toes before he uncurls himself, rolls over to face Liam, blessed Liam who has left the light switch unperturbed. In the dark of the room, Zayn can still see that he looks exasperated, and guilt trickles down to his stomach, making him feel queasy –- though it might be the water and the jostling. “What're you doing here?” The words come out all jumbled and thick, and Zayn is slow to glance towards the clock, numbers so bright he has to squint to make out the time. “Movie isn't over yet, is'it?”

 Liam's jaw is set tight in a way that Zayn doesn't approve of, that makes him want to reach out, and he does, traces shaky fingers over his smooth skin, gets lost in the feel of it under his palm, so different from early-morning Liam with his stubble and sleepy smiles.  _“Zayn.”_ He says again, and Zayn gives him a tired smile, tucks his fingers back under his armpits because he can't  _focus_  and Liam looks good and he's warm and all Zayn wants is to cuddle him, because Liam's _home_  and he's not -

 He winces when he realizes  _why_  Liam's not where he's supposed to be, where Zayn told him to be. “Oops?” He mutters, scrunches up his face into something that he hopes is adorable enough for Liam to forgive him. “I heard the movie wasn't that great anyway?”

 Liam sighs, but it sounds more fond than angry now.  _“I tried calling you, you dick.”_ He nuzzles close and Zayn protests half-heartedly, words like  _sick_  and  _icky_  and  _contagious_  lacking any real conviction when he's hunkering close for warmth, when Liam's embrace has him sighing out gratefully. “Phone was off.” He says thickly, voice muffled by Liam's now not-so-pristine suit, and Liam presses a kiss to his hair.  _“I got that after the fifth time your cell went straight to voicemail.”_

 Zayn mumbles “Oops” again, twists his fingers in the lapels of Liam's jacket, presses his cold, red nose against his throat, where he hides a smile when Liam chuckles.  _“I thought something had happened. I thought you passed out or something.”_ He sounds genuinely worried and Zayn feels bad, but Liam is so warm and his fingers have crept up under Zayn's oversized tee –- that he's nicked from Liam's suitcase years ago because it smelled like him and it was the best he had at the time, and it's no match for the real thing but it kept him sane when Liam wasn't within reach, when Liam was with  _her_  and Zayn didn't have the reassurance that Liam would come to him, after –- and they're good, they feel great against his skin.

 “No,” he sighs out, presses closer, his own hand under Liam's dress shirt now, cold fingers splayed over his heart the way Liam's are over his waist, hips slotted together and he doesn't need the blanket now, doesn't need anything because Liam's here, Liam's with him, Liam's  _his_  and he might mumble some of that because Liam laughs again, whispers  _“You're so out of it, aren't you”._  Zayn snuffles, wants to retort that he's totally fine ktnxbye but Liam presses another kiss to the top of his head and pulls him closer.  _“It's okay,”_ he says, and Zayn dignifies that with a sound because even when feverish and out of it and halfway to sleep he still needs that reassurance that he hasn't fucked up, that he's still the one Liam wants, always the one that Liam is gonna want.  _“I didn't really want to be there anyway. Wanted to be here. With you. Where I belong.”_

 Damn right, Zayn thinks, but all that comes out is a sleepily slurred “Fuck the whole bloody Nation.” 


End file.
